


purple, like the bruises on your skin

by thedevilchicken



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruises, F/F, Fingerfucking, Fist Fights, Mid-Time Skip, Oral Sex, Sparring, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: When they fight, Carol pulls her punches. Natasha doesn't have to.





	purple, like the bruises on your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).

> Okay, so Nat's not officially super soldier serumed in the MCU, but just bear with me here...

When they fight, Carol pulls her punches. Natasha doesn't have to. 

It's a strange feeling, knowing she can hit as hard as she likes and the person who's taking those hits won't bruise from them at all, not even just a little bit. The Red Room gave her things as well as taking others from her, and one of those things is strength she sometimes has to blunt the edges of; it's not for fear of what might happen if she doesn't, because she knows what would happen. She was still using her strength for all the wrong reasons not even all that long ago, and what results from it is still fresh in her mind.

So, when she fights, she knows that under any normal circumstances she has to dial it down or break something, some_one_. There are exceptions to the rule - Thor, Tony in the armor, Bruce when he's his bigger, greener self - but it's still not like she ever goes at them full throttle. She keeps a little something back, though it's not for them. It's just for her. It reminds her of who she is now, and who she'd like to think she always should have been.

With Carol, though, it's different. 

Carol doesn't need to spar with her. In terms of raw power, Carol's like Thor on top of Thor stood next to Thor, except she's never claimed to be a god of any kind, and that means she absolutely does not need to spar with her. But every time she's back on Earth, Carol flashes her a smile and puts up her dukes and mimes like she's boxing about as well as Happy does on a really off day. Natasha nods and later, maybe twenty minutes or two hours or else right at the end of the day when they should both be spending more time thinking about sleep than fighting, they head into the training room. 

They never wear their suits because it's not that kind of fight. They maybe look like all this is is two teammates hitting the gym and that's good because Natasha's not sure how to talk about what else it is, if there's even the words to articulate. They toe off their sneakers and they hit the mats and most of the time it starts out small and builds up slowly as the minutes pass. They trade jabs and jibes and cocky smiles and their pulled-back hair starts working its way loose as they dance around each other, easily. Natasha finds she likes that. 

Tonight, though, it didn't start out small. She led with her fist and found Carol's jaw and she knows what would've happened if it hadn't been her. Carol raised her brows. Carol raised her fists. She leaned into her stance. And sometimes she'll just stand there like a punching bag, flipping her hair over her shoulder all nonchalant and saying, _C'mon, Romanoff, is that all you've got?_ Sometimes she'll fight her like all she is is Natasha's low-level brand of superhuman, like all they are is two women evenly matched. Tonight, though, her fists blazed. Carol took her down quickly, though she didn't go without a fight. She should probably wish she had, but she doesn't. 

When she undressed after, back in her room, bruises were already blossoming there beneath her skin. Bruises marched across one cheekbone and the knuckles of both her hands; Carol had still pulled her punches, but that didn't mean Natasha had. Looking at herself now, in the mirror in her room, she knows most of what she sees it what she did to herself. The rest she knows she asked Carol to. 

Carol stands up from the edge of the bed. She cut her hair again recently - while Natasha's has been getting longer, hers just keeps getting shorter. It's probably mostly just out of practicality but it suits her, too, Natasha thinks, as she watches in the mirror. They're both naked, gym clothes in a heap on the floor by the bed where they abandoned them, the scene not unfamiliar. It doesn't always end here, but it usually does. 

"You want me to go easier next time?" Carol asks. She steps in close, right up against Natasha's back till they're skin to skin; she rests her chin on her shoulder as she meets her mirrored gaze and trails her fingertips across Natasha's bruised hip. The energy that's still in her makes Natasha tingle. Sometimes she's not sure it's ever all the way off. Sometimes she thinks she likes that.

She shakes her head. "Don't you dare," she replies, and she means it. "Don't you _ever_." And she probably will, but that's an argument for another time, on another day. 

For now, Carol pushes her down onto the bed. There, at least, Natasha's convinced she'll never go easy. Sometimes, that's almost more punishing than the fights could ever be.

Carol's power's in her skin as she settles there on top of her. It's in her mouth as they kiss, roughly, messily, enough that Natasha's lipstick would've smudged if she'd still been wearing it. It's in her lips as she moves down, pressing almost stinging kisses to her collarbone, her sternum, ribcage, navel, cunt. It's almost crackling in her fingers as she teases at her slit and finds her wet. It's there when she pushes them inside her, knuckle-deep and sudden, taking her breath away, and Natasha feels herself squeeze tight. She's wanted this for hours. She's wanted it for _weeks_. She's thought about it often. She's like to think Carol has.

She hears herself groan. It's not calculated the way it used to be sometimes, before S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers; when Carol's hot mouth finds her clit, when her tongue starts to tease, Natasha has no calculation left in her. All she has is the raw-edged pain-pleasure tingle of the power Carol has inside her. All she has is Carol's fingers fucking her until her hips are pushing down to meet every thrust. All she has is the arch of her back and her fingers twisted so tight in Carol's short hair that her bruised knuckles ache as she holds her there, but she can't let go. Except then she lets go completely. 

She comes with a snap of her hips and a bone-deep judder, and a curse that makes Carol chuckle, but there way it's muffled there between Natasha's thighs takes the edge off of the effect. Then Carol stretches out beside her, on her side, her head braced on one hand while she rubs her own clit with the other. Natasha would push her fingers into her, let her ride them till she comes, but they found out the hard way that she's super-strong inside there, too, and once almost broke Natasha's fingers when she came. These days she fucks her with a toy instead, when things go that way, just to stick to the safer side. Not that anything about this is safe, but she's not sure their lives have ever been. Not before Thanos, and definitely not after.

She knows Carol's leaving soon, maybe the day after tomorrow, and she'll be heading back out who knows where. She'll only see her in thin, holographic form, though she guesses holograms do have their place, then she'll come back again in a couple of months, maybe more, maybe less, and they'll do this all again. Sometimes Natasha wonders how it would be if she stayed, but she'll never ask her to; she doesn't need to ask to know she wouldn't. Frankly, she's not sure she'd want her if she did. Maybe one day, but not now.

It's not meant to be a grand romance. It's not her happy ever after. The bruises will fade in a couple of days and it'll be like Carol Danvers was never there at all. 

But, for now, Carol traces Natasha's bruises with her fingertips. The spark in Carol's skin makes them ache so damn sweetly that she pushes up, and she straddles her hips; Carol doesn't object, she just smiles a wolfish smile before Natasha's mouth crashes down into hers. She'll maybe bruise her lips, too, but she just doesn't care. She likes the way it feels.

Carol pulls her punches. With everyone but her, Natasha pulls hers, too. 

With Carol, she just lets go. And, for once, with her, there are no consequences.


End file.
